


The Black Parade

by Taimane



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, End of the World, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23562709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taimane/pseuds/Taimane
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are struggling to navigate their relationship, and being on opposing sides doesn't help.What begins as a fight between Crowley and Aziraphale, escalates into a fight to save Aziraphale's soul. And consequently, the world.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 7





	The Black Parade

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot.... but the fic wrote itself. Can't tell you how long it'll take me to finish this, but it will get finished. Eventually. God I do love this show.

The London air was thick and heavy with smog. Fumes spilling out of car exhausts polluted every molecule, leaving not a breath of clean oxygen in the near vicinity. The only people in London who realised that this was a potential health risk were the Japanese tourists walking around with barely concealed disgust wrinkled around their eyes as they clutched their face masks desperately. Everybody else was immersed in whatever technology they owned, iPhone, iPad, smartphone, iWatch. Reading about the dangers of pollution and the polar ice caps melting whilst on their way to work, oblivious to the fact that they were living it. Breathing it in. Consuming it.  
It was Anthony Crowley’s greatest accomplishment to date. That, and creating the M25 in the 70’s. Oh, and Selfie’s. There was nothing better than watching someone almost get squashed by a bus whilst attempting to take a Selfie outside some landmark in London. And sometimes it wasn’t just ‘almost.’ 

One might be wondering who Anthony Crowley is, and that can only be explained by going back a bit. In the beginning, Crowley was an Angel. He loved his brothers and sisters with his entire being, he loved his work as an archangel, protecting the gates of heaven and those who resided there. He felt important. Loved, and respected. It was that way for thousands of years. Until the almighty decided that she wanted a basement, and cut half of her family off. Crowley ended up becoming Crowley on a bleak midwinters day, some 8000 years before Christ. It didn’t get any better from there. 

Crowley didn’t remember falling, not really. Well, he remembered bits and pieces of it, but trying to put the pieces together was like trying to sift through sand, or walk through mud. It made his brain hurt just thinking about it, so he didn’t think about it. Which brings us back to London, specifically Berkeley Square, where said Demon is currently sitting on a bench and feeling incredibly sorry for himself. Not even a bird shitting on a German tourists unsuspecting head could bring a smile to his face. 

Crowley was remembering a conversation that he had with his best friend Aziraphale, some three or maybe four months back. Give or take.  
“You could come and live with me.” Crowley had turned to his friend, trying to keep the hope from his eyes and out of his tone.  
“Really?” Aziraphale looked delighted, before bringing the shutters back down. “I don’t think my side would like that very much.” He back tracked.  
Crowley remembered loosing his temper then. “You don’t have a side anymore!” Crowley cringed in embarrassment, bringing a hand over his eyes and dragging it down his face, as if he wanted to gouge out his features. Which he did kind of want to do. 

That conversation… that had been months ago. And he hadn’t heard from Aziraphale since. It had been torture. How could he have been so stupid as to ruin something so… perfect. And it had been, perfect. Their relationship, or whatever it was. Aziraphale had threatened to stop talking to him once before, back when they were trying to stop Armageddon from happening. Crowley needed to be the bad one, the one with the plan, and when he came up short the very worst threat that Aziraphale could think of was to stop speaking to him. And it had worked. By god it worked, Crowley could remember his heart almost crunching in his chest with anxiety before he made the split second decision to stop time. Or take Adam out of realities plain of existence, whichever way you wanted to look at it. He just never thought that Aziraphale would actually make good on his promise not to talk to him again. Crowley had been sat on the bench in Berkeley Square for the best part of the morning, trying to come up with an answer. He had tried phoning Aziraphale, but he had been screening his calls. He wanted to saunter up to that bloody book shop and ask him straight to his face for an explanation, for any reason as to why he was being given the cold shoulder. But part of him couldn’t face the rejection head on. It was one thing to not have your call picked up. It was another to have the door slammed right in your face. He wasn’t sure he could handle it. 

You see, another thing that annoyed Crowley about his current predicament was that fact that he was in this predicament. The thing about Demons was that they weren’t supposed to care about feelings. They weren’t supposed to have feelings. Thats why he moved those markers in the 70’s when he was on the council for building the M25. And most of all, most importantly of all, Demons were absolutely, unequivocally, not supposed to have best friends. Especially if that best friend happened to be an Angel. Crowley stomped his feet and roared in anger, frightening a family of Nightingales out of their tree and making an old lady tut loudly as she wheeled her trolly passed him. She made sure to wheel it with rather more force than was necessary through a puddle, insuring his new snakeskin boots were soaked in muddy water. He made sure that the next bird to fly over her head had diarrhoea. 

He didn’t care that Aziraphale had chosen to ignore him. He didn’t care that he’d manage to fuck things up and upset his only friend. He didn’t care that he didn’t know what he’d done. He didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care. 

He sucked in a breath, pulled his tightly fitted blazer closer to his chest and stood. He didn’t care if Aziraphale wouldn’t see him. He didn’t care if it didn’t get sorted out. He didn’t care if he would be alone for the rest of eternity.  
“Fuck!” He roared as he rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands in his blazer pockets. He hated that damn Angel. Hated him all the way to hell. He’d just go and check in. But he very definitely didn’t care, either way. 

Aziraphale had spent a rather lovely morning tending to his books. Whilst the shop had been open, it had been a slow day, and had decided to use the time wisely and take inventory. Inventory was one of his favourite things to do, it gave him an excuse to caress the leather bound pages and let the books fall open at a random page.  
It was also an opportunity for him to take stock, inventory wasn’t all about the books. It was Aziraphale’s down time, he needed it to stay sane. Some people went for walks… Some went and did various dangerous activities that Aziraphale did not approve of. Other than drink copious amounts of Alcohol and binge eat, this was Aziraphale’s escape. Aziraphale was, at heart, a very simple creature who loved his book shop, his wine and fine dining. So long as he was aloud to continue to enjoy those simple pleasures in life, Aziraphale was perfectly content. He currently had all of those things in his life. He did not want to think about why he felt the need to take inventory. Why he felt like he had to have a mental health day was too damn complicated to even begin to try and unravel. Thinking about it made his chest constrict tightly and a sharp pain shoot down his left arm. 

“Aziraphale!” 

Aziraphale flinched and let the book fall softly closed. Too Late. 

Crowley hammered on the bookshop door, relishing the sting he felt in his knuckles as the closed sign fell off the hook. “Aziraphale you son of a bitch!! Open up the god damn door!” He was so angry that he didn’t even notice the blasphemous language currently spewing out of his mouth. Now he was here, and still being ignored, he was furious. 

“Aziraphale! Aziraphale! Azir-!” 

The door flew open and he nearly punched Aziraphale right in the face. He would have deserved it, thought Crowley. The bastard.  
Crowley had thought of a million things that he wanted to say too Aziraphale in the few months that he had been given the silent treatment, but now that he was finally face to face with his best friend, the words failed him. He stood breathing harshly, trying to calm his frayed nerves and quell his anger enough to be able to actually talk. What came out was, in fact, some garbled nonsense. Before he knew it, he was screaming.  
“You! You-!” he spat in Aziraphale's face, raising a shaking hand and pointing a finger between his eyes. “Why!?” he roared, frightening some passers by. Crowley flung his arms in the air and grabbed his hair in frustration, twisting it between his fingers before clenching his shaking hands. “Why, for months, and months would you ignore me?! We’re best friends! Was it me asking you to move in with me? Was that it? Or the Holy Water? Because you’ve got to clue me in, i’m going crazy here!” Crowley took a deep breath after his rant, chest heaving. He leaned against the door frame, one of his hands loosely swinging against the wooden frame. Aziraphale took in his best friends disheveled appearance, and red rimmed eyes, and promptly took a step backwards. Time to diffuse the situation.  
“Crowley, darling. Lovely to see you-”  
“Cut the crap Aziraphale!”  
“Yes yes, well. Perhaps we should take this conversation inside. Please do come in.” Aziraphale stepped aside and opened the door wider, trying to coax Crowley into a more private setting. Aziraphale nodded appeasingly to an old man who was staring at them with barely concealed disgusted disapproval. 

Crowley leaned against the door frame more heavily, as if drunk, and leaned forward into Aziraphale’s personal space. “You sure? Am I welcome here? You’re not going to throw me out when things get a bit uncomfortable are you?”  
Aziraphale threw up his hands in surrender and hunched his shoulders awkwardly. “No, I promise you. Please come in. This is… long overdue.”  
Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a moment longer, momentarily regretting his decision to storm over to his best friends book shop in a fit of rage that hell would have been proud of. 

Crowley levelled his gaze at Aziraphale. “Well…” he exaggerated the syllables, over pronouncing the W, trying to give himself some more time. “Fine.” Like a petulant child he sauntered into Aziraphale’s bookshop and spun around as Aziraphale shut the door behind him. 

The bookshop was old, vintage, a classic. ‘ _Much like its owner_ ’ thought Crowley, and he stopped himself abruptly. ‘ _Where the hell did that come from_!?’  
Crowley blinked and shook his head, breathing in the smell of dusty old books. And Aziraphale. The bookshop had a warm, inviting glow to it, due to the fact that Aziraphale still favoured old fashioned candles to light a space. It felt very deceiving to Crowley. He felt as though he was like a moth to a flame. And he didn’t like it, not one bit. He put his mental shields back up, pieced them back together with sticky tape and tried to keep his breathing even. He knew they needed to have this conversation, it had been brewing for millennia. It was just... now that it came down to it, Crowley was finding it very difficult to a) keep his emotions in check and b) let them out. It was a very strange feeling, and Crowley felt as if his head might explode with it. 

Aziraphale was in the same predicament as Crowley, but was much more reserved in showing it. Aziraphale could see that his friend was struggling just as much as he was, and he hated the fact that that he was the reason behind it. He just didn’t know what to do to fix it, so Aziraphale, being the introvert that he was, simply ignored the problem. And whilst it had worked for him for a long time, it was time to face the music. Aziraphale tilted his head and took in Crowley. ‘Although maybe ignoring the situation wasn’t working as well as I thought it was.’ 

“Why don’t you sit down.” Aziraphale gestured towards a plush armchair that Crowley had sat in many times before.  
Crowley levelled his gaze at Aziraphale and shook his head. “Nope,” he said popping the “P” and folding his arms defensively across his chest. Aziraphale sighed and ran a hand through his short, white hair. “Okay.” He folded. “Okay. Look. This is going to be difficult, for both of us. I simply thought, at least we should be comfortable while we hash this out.” 

Crowley shook his head and swallowed, refusing to break eye contact. “I’m fine right here.” Aziraphale nodded. “Very well. Let’s lick this band aid then.”  
In spite of himself, Crowley eye rolled so hard his eyeballs hurt. “It’s rip.” At Aziraphale’s confused expression, he continued. “The expression is ‘let’s rip this band aid off.’ Not lick.”  
Aziraphale’s expression softened and he smiled sadly. “That’s why I need to keep you around.”  
Crowleys eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he unfolded his arms slowly. “Say that again... you... you... need... me? Me? Crowley? Demon! You need me?” Aziraphale nodded and took a step towards his friend.  
“I’m sorry for making you think anything other than that. It’s just that, when you suggested that we move in together-”  
“Ha! So it was that! I knew it-”  
“Yes yes well done you were right.” Aziraphale interrupted Crowley’s outburst. He continued. “You see the thing is. Well, my problem is-”  
Aziraphale floundered for the right words, waving his arms in frustration.  
Suddenly, as if all the air and fight left him in one woosh, Aziraphale slumped into his easy chair and poured himself a large glass of red.  
Crowley raised one eyebrow even further. “Drinking problem there pal?” He asked. Aziraphale shook his head. “Dutch courage.” He took a large gulp before he continued.  
“I got scared.” Aziraphale looked deep into the bottom of his wine glass, inspecting every drop as he swished the contents around. He took another gulp.  
“You? Scared? An Angel? Scared of a Demon? Give me a break.” Crowley scoffed and Aziraphale glanced up from his wine glass indignantly. “No you idiot! I was scared of myself. I knew I wouldn’t be able to move in with you because I care too much!” 

“About what?” Crowley asked, completely dumbfounded.  
“You, you imbecile! I care about you! And when you asked me to move in with you, I thought maybe, just maybe you might care about me. And I’ve never, ever felt like this before. About anything, ever. And do you know how much that frightens me?!” He roared and before he knew it he was standing up. He rushed Crowley and grabbed his thin t-shirt, shoving him backwards until his back hit a bookshelf. The motion made a few of the books topple to the floor with a muffled _thud thud thud_.  
The wine had been forgotten, smashed on the floor. 

“What!?” Roared Crowley. Their noses were almost touching now, and Crowley could see every freckle on Aziraphale’s face, every pore. He looked into his eyes and he almost stopped breathing. He had never seen so much love reflected back at himself before. He could get lost in it.  
“Out with it! This has gone on-” 

Aziraphale took a breath and closed the gap between himself and the demon, crushing his lips against Crowley’s. He had read about kissing, and all manner of things that came with it. He had thought about this since the garden, and it was everything he hoped it would be. It was everything and more. Aziraphale moaned as Crowley reached around and grabbed the back of his head, fisting his hands in his hair and pulling. Time seemed to stand still, and everything else save for Aziraphale faded away. 

Eventually, they broke apart, both of them gasping for air. Aziraphale glanced down and when he realised he was still grasping Crowley’s shirt he let go, as if burned. They stared at each other for what felt like eternity to Aziraphale. He grimaced in what he hoped looked like wry amusement, trying to cover the fear he felt as his heart tried to beat out of his corporeal chest.  
“Say something.” He whispered. He felt like a school girl on a first date. “Please.”  
Crowley smirked and tilted his head back. “I am completely irresistible.”  
Aziraphale sighed. “Must you cheapen the moment? I’ve waited thousands of years for that. See this is why I didn’t want to-”  
“Calm your tits, Angel. Although I am delighted to know that you’ve wanted to kiss me for years and years and-”  
“Shut up!” Aziraphale yelled, his nerves frayed.  
“Make me.” Crowley taunted, and Aziraphale spent the rest of the evening making Crowley shut up. 

~ Good Omens ~ 

The morning sun broke through Aziraphale’s bedroom curtains at precisely 4.45am on Sunday the 13th of February. The bedroom was cluttered with books, an old dresser sat in the corner of the room, and a writing desk was placed neatly underneath the window. A big four poster bed took up the most space in the room. It was an original french import, and Aziraphale had paid a lot of money for it. He had spent even more money getting it shipped over from Versailles. The two occupants were currently sound asleep. Or one of them was, and the other was pretending. 

Crowley could hardly believe his luck. He couldn’t believe that 24 hours ago he had thought that his relationship with Aziraphale was on the rocks. He thought that he had irreparably destroyed the one good thing he had going for him, because that’s what he did. He destroyed things. He was a demon, after all. 

He risked opening his eyes, and the sight that befell him was truly breathtaking. His Angel was sleeping soundly, his body rising up and down softly with each breath. Aziraphale was angled towards him, their noses almost touching. Crowley could see every detail of Aziraphale’s face, in acute detail. But it was different to the night before. Then his face had been lined with worry and panic and barely concealed excitement. Now that Aziraphale was asleep and sated, he looked about 300 years younger. Had that really been what had been bothering Aziraphale all this time? Crowley wondered. Was that why Aziraphale was so uptight when they were together, always choosing his words so carefully. But when Crowley thought back, he could remember the fondness that Aziraphale had in his eyes whenever Crowley magically appeared, quite often to get Aziraphale out of some mess or another. 

“It’s rude to stare.”  
Crowley’s heart nearly stopped.  
“Good morning.” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley’s startled expression and laughed. The sound was rich and bounced around the room, and it made Crowley’s tummy pool with something warm. Crowley snuggled further into the comfy sheets. Aziraphale’s bed was unlike his. It was the complete opposite in fact. Crowley slept on silk sheets and had the thinnest blanket that he could find. Normally he liked to be cold when he slept, but it was nice being warm. Being warm usually reminded him of hell, but he couldn’t have been farther from it at this moment in time. 

He gave his friend, partner, lover? boyfriend? A lazy smile and reached out to touch his forehead gently. “Good morning.” Crowley replied, and let his hand fall to caress Aziraphale’s face. “Are we really doing this?” Crowley asked Aziraphale, his voice shaking slightly with nerves. What if he said no?  
Aziraphale shuffled closer to Crowley. “Yes,” Aziraphale breathed softly, before frowning. “If that’s what you want.”  
Crowley licked his dry lips and nodded. “Is it... is it what you want?” He asked Aziraphale quietly.  
“Did anything I did last might give you the impression that this isn’t what I want?”  
Crowley barked out a laugh in response. “You got me there.”  
Aziraphale continued. “But you’re still unsure? We can press pause if this is too much for you.”  
Crowley shook his head. “No no, that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about what happens with our bosses find out about our... latest update. They’re not going to like this, not at all.” 

Aziraphale considered this. “No they’re not going to be. But they don't need to know. No one does."  
Crowley sat up, affronted. “You’re ashamed of me?!”  
“What! No! Not at all! I want us to be a proper couple. Happy. I want us to be happy, in whatever form that comes in. But we do need to do some of the talking we were supposed to do last night.”  
Crowley coughed. “I believe that was your fault.”  
Aziraphale went bright red and ducked his head. “Yeah, about that..”  
Crowley guffawed. “Have you had partners before? Because where did you learn to do all that stuff? I was very impressed. That’s the kind of thing I should be doing to you-”  
If it were possible, Aziraphale went even redder. “I read!” Aziraphale pushed Crowley back into the pillow and he laughed even harder. “Enough. Let’s make breakfast. We can talk then.” Aziraphale made to get up, but Crowley grabbed his neck and pulled him down to kiss him.  
“It’s still early,” Crowley mumbled. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Can’t argue with that logic.” He grinned and kissed Aziraphale again. 

~ Good Omens ~ 

“So what do we tell people when they ask?” Aziraphale was flipping pancakes over the stove in his tiny kitchen. He took the screaming kettle off the stove and poured the boiling water into two cups, adding milk to one and leaving the other black. He gave the black one to Crowley, who was sitting/ lying over the wooden kitchen chair. To anyone else Crowley appeared nonchalant, with both elbows resting on the back of the chair. Aziraphale knew better. 

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked, whilst reaching over to grab the steaming cup of black coffee and cradled it between his palms.  
“What I just said. Do we tell people we’re a couple? Are we a couple? Or is this just a fling, one long one night stand. An open relationship-” 

Crowley sighed and uncrossed his legs. “Alright,” he interrupted, sitting up straighter in his chair. He stretched across the table, pulling his cup with him. The sound seemed to echo around the room. “You need to listen to me. You are not, or ever have been, a one night stand. I care about you, I really do. But why do we have to tell everyone? Do we need to put a label on it?” 

Aziraphale had forgotten about the pancakes, which were now starting to burn. “That tells me that you don’t care about me.” He couldn’t keep the hurt out of his voice. Crowley pulled his hair in exasperation. 

“How!?” Aziraphale was about to reply, but was drowned out by the fire alarm which started blasting through the shop. Aziraphale started coughing violently and brought an arm up to cover his mouth and nose.  
“Well done!” Crowley roared over the noise and clicked his fingers. The noise stopped. He clicked his fingers again and the smoke disappeared. Crowley stormed over to the stove and threw the charred remains of the pancake in the bin. 

“Why are you even worried about this? We don’t even know enough people to tell!”  
“Anathema and Newt! And... and... the kids!”  
Crowley snorted. “We have been on this earth for thousands of years and we only know two people and a bunch of kids!”  
“Fine then! What do we tell our own kind?” Aziraphale was relentless. He wanted Crowley to admit that they were a couple, a proper couple. He knew he sounded like a teenage girl, but he couldn’t help it. It felt like it wasn’t real unless Crowley admitted it. Crowley leaned against the sink and crossed his legs. He sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. What would you like to tell them? That we’re boyfriends? Lovers?” 

“Yes!” Aziraphale yelled in exasperation. “Yes! I want us to be an actual couple that doesn’t have to hide behind being “best friends.” I want to go on dates, on actual dates and not call it “having lunch.” I want to walk into the ritz hand in hand and not worry about being found out. I want it all! I only said that we don't have to tell anyone earlier because I thought that's what you wanted. This is all just... so confusing.” 

Crowley continued to stare, unwavering at a crack he’d found in Aziraphale’s ceiling. “You need to get a plasterer in,” Crowley quipped, before Aziraphale grabbed his shirt and shook him. “You idiot!” Aziraphale roared. “Can’t you see what this is doing to me? To us! You carry on and there will be no us! And you’ll be alone. And it’ll be no one’s fault but yours!” 

Crowley looked at his partner, who was so angry he was crying. The lights in the kitchen had blown and several books had flung themselves off the shelves. Aziraphale’s mouth turned downwards in his unhappiness and he pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose. He brushed them across his eyebrows, trying to release some of the tension. It was giving him a headache. 

Taking a deep breath, he said “Well then, I guess we’re done.”  
Crowley almost fell off the counter top in surprise. “What!?” he squeaked indignantly. “Done. Terminado. Fertig. Exactam eam-”  
“Yes yes I get it you’re educated,” snarled Crowley. “So that’s it, we’re over?”  
Aziraphale’s nostrils flared as he nodded. “Ineffably so.”  
“Well then. See ya.” Crowley clicked his fingers and was gone, leaving Aziraphale alone in his misery. 

Three months later

Crowley was loathe to admit it, but he missed Aziraphale with every fibre of his being. He had done from the second he had clicked his fingers and magicked himself away from Aziraphale. He had made a colossal mistake, and from what he could tell, there was no way of fixing it. 

Crowley had instead put all of his energy into caring for his plants, much to the plants horror. They cowered when he entered the living room carrying a watering can. Crowley made sure that he did this at different times throughout the day. He couldn’t have the plants get complacent, or get to know his routine. Crowley felt that fear was the best incentive for growth. 

Mid way through watering his begonia’s, the TV switched itself on, and he was greeted by Hastur and Ligur. “Crowley,” Hastur drawled, hatred dripping off every syllable. “You’ve been quiet these last few months. Moping after your boyfriend?”  
Crowley paused, his anger going from 0-60mph in less than ten seconds. He turned to the Television and went to pull the plug. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Hastur drawled, and Ligur giggled in glee at Crowley’s obvious distress at the mention of Aziraphale. 

“So the rumours are true. Interesting.” Hastur grinned.  
“What rumours?” Crowley asked, despite himself.  
“That you’re boning the Angel.” Hastur raised an eyebrow, and showed his teeth. “Nice work. If there’s one sure way to make an Angel fall from grace, that’d do it.”  
Crowley felt as if the air had been forcibly removed from his body. His chest constricted and he felt as if there was so much air whipping past his face that he couldn’t breathe.  
“What… what…” Crowley gasped.  
“What What What?” Hastur mocked, repeating Crowleys stuttering in a high pitched girls voice. “That was the whole plan you imbecile. Did you really think that we didn’t know that you two were friends? When we realised that you were both in cahoot’s, we realised that it was the perfect opportunity to corrupt the Angel. If he’s corrupted enough, he’ll fall from heaven and become one of us. Imagine what we could do with an Angel in hell, the information we could learn. And we’d have so much fun doing it.” Ligur giggled again as Hastur had finished talking. 

“Oh the look on your face!” Hastur clapped his hands together in glee. “You’ve been played son!” he roared, whooping in laughter. Crowley didn’t realise that his hands were shaking, and his sleeve was wet with the water from the watering can that was now spilling onto the floor.  
“The process has begun,” Hastur continued. “You’ve started it off nicely. Well done. All we need to do now is wait.”  
Crowley couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So the whole purpose of this visit was too… what? Rub my face in it?”  
Hastur nodded slightly, raising one shoulder to his ear. “Partly. And also the boss wanted to congratulate you. This is big. Potentially bigger than the end of days. And you started the domino’s.” 

Hastur placed his hands together on his knees and leaned back in his chair on the TV set. “So well done. You’ll be hearing from us.”  
Ligur waved bye bye, and the TV flickered off with a pop of static. 

Crowley stared at the TV long after Hastur and Ligur had disappeared, numb with disbelief and crushing regret. He had been planning, albeit reluctantly, to approach Aziraphale once more to try and rekindle something. That notion had been ripped from him though, and he felt as if his insides had been scooped out with a blunt spoon.  
Crowley put the watering can down on his desk, and slumped into the opulent chair next to the desk. He opened the top drawer, and pulled out a bottle of Irish. Unscrewing the lid he brought the bottle to his lips and relished in the burning liquid as it trickled down his throat.  
_What do you do_ thought Crowley _after you realise your whole world’s been torn apart_?


End file.
